Faction Bring Me His Flesh-Leather!

[The Messenger]

Wretched screams echoed through the deep durasteel chasm as white hot steam rose around the long walkway overlooking oblivion. An ominous red orange glow filled the massive chamber as several figures among the ranks of the Brotherhood stepped forth into the domain of the Taskmaster Tu'teggacha . Rows of cells and isolation chambers as far as the eye could see lined the walls deep below the walkway. The shuttering sounds of pain and terror rippled through the ears of all those who passed through these dark chambers, such was the domain of one blessed by the Heathen Priests themselves.

Rows of prisoners had flowed through these walkways as of late, fresh slaves from the raid over the Black Spire Outpost. They walked to their doom, hopelessly escorted by hardened marauders and lashed at by assistants to the Taskmaster himself. There was an unnatural feeling of dread here, it was saturated within the very metal walls and emanated from all around them. This despair was amplified by the mighty prowess of the Taskmaster himself who was judge, jury, and executioner here in this dark dark place.

In the center of the chasm was a tower, inside a room of dark design, a torture chamber filled with the most insidious of tools. The sounds of screams and utter agony reverberated from the entryway of the tower, the dark work of the Breaker-Of-Slaves making itself prevalent to those who approached. There were many tools at the dark one's disposal, an interrogation chair laid at the center of the tower's largest chamber, universal energy cages lined the walls ready for use, and in the dark corner a most insidious device straight from the Yuuzhan Vong, an Embrace of Pain. Tools lined the chamber, and in the midst of it all, Deacon Mardok the Terrible, a member of the Heathen Priesthood stood before the Taskmaster watching him inflict pain on one who held knowledge he sought with all his being.

"If he will not break, he will die. Where is the heretic? Where are you hiding him!?"

 

[Tu'teggacha]

"He will break," the taskmaster replied, not even looking up from his work. "They all break."

The Ebruchi was amused by Deacon Mardok's impatience, though he supposed it made sense. The Heathen Priests were conduits of the darkness, full of the passions that fueled it, and patience was not among the Dark Side's gifts. A torturer, however, had to be patient. After all, it wasn't the pain that broke any of his victims. Pain might get answers from the weak-willed, but just as often it merely elicited endless weeping and blathering and blurting out of what the victim thought the torturer wanted to hear.

And pain on its own couldn't change anyone. It might make them bow to your will in the moment, but not in a week or a year.

To create real change, the kind of utter reshaping that turned meek captives into fanatical slave-soldiers, patience was key. Because it wasn't pain that broke them, it was helplessness. Even an average person can last through torture if they know that it will end. But if the torturer makes it clear that this is the first day of the rest of your life, that all the agony the victim felt today will be played out tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow forever, with no escape even through death... that's when helplessness sets in.

And that was how Tu'teggacha broke them: using the crushing weight of inevitability to grind out the last spark of hope.

But this particular victim was not here to be transformed into a slave-soldier. The Deacon wanted what the poor fool knew, and he wanted it immediately. Fortunately, the Ebruchi had ways around the classic problem of victims blurting out falsehoods in an attempt to stop the pain. The Dark Side flowed through him, and with a scalpel of pure thought he could slice into the memories of those strapped to his table. Tu'teggacha extended one knobby, gnarled claw to the Deacon, his facial tendrils drifting into an alien smile.

"Come, Deacon Mardok," he said, placing his other hand on the victim's forehead and squeezing tight. "We will crack open his mind and feast upon its fruit. His thoughts will be ours, and you will find what you seek." Tu'teggacha gathered his power, letting the shadowed current of the Dark Side carry them both on a Memory Walk into the prisoner's head. He hoped to resolve this diversion soon. Finding the location of the Deacon's lost heretic was no doubt important, but he hungered to return to his more transformative work.

After all, what was more important than forging pure new minds from the ruins of ordinary ones?

The Messenger​

 

[The Messenger]

The Deacon gazed upon the Ebruchi's extended knobby and nodded with glee, he was ready to uncover the information the traitor had and locate the supposed heretic stowed away onboard. He closed his eyes as he tuned himself into the current of the Dark Side guided by the Taskmaster himself. The sheer dark influence pressed upon the mind by the Heathen Priest and the Ebruchi Dark Side Adept was enough to crack his mind like an egg as all access to his darkest memories flooded before him.

The Memory Walk was a powerful mental assault that called upon the victim's worst memories to be relived over and over again to the point of physical agony. His screams continued, albeit louder and unrefined. The sounds reverberating from out of the chamber, echoing out across the vast chasm of tortured souls. The traitor's mind threatened to buckle under the weight of the psychic assault that the two unleashed as they plucked through his memory.

Oh the truth was so much sweeter than his lies and scream ridden half-truths.

An image appeared of a man with dark hair brought aboard Gehinnom, taken in by this former slave turned marauder who for but the faintest moment had rekindled some hope of humanity inside himself. Guided by the words of this kind stranger, it was utterly disgusting. He was glad that much of the recent memory was broken up into fragments from the sheer pain inflicted as the victim's mind shambled into pieces slowly. A flash came upon the two as they returned to their own eyes, and the prisoner went limp, drooling from the trauma.


Tu'teggacha

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Kyrel stood inside one of the many levels that had a connection to watch the fun take place. Aboard Gehinnom, if you weren't with the Brotherhood according to your own will. One thing was certain, the brotherhood would make you. Of course, he was like many others who had taken slaves from Black Spire Outpost. Some made war profits from the slaves to boost the Warmachine of the great heathen army. Others simply needed to replenish the soldiers that were lost.

The Heathen priests were brought forth those that did not give in willingly. Sometimes they were brought special visitors to make an example out of. It was all broadcasted or shown through the various arenas and levels of the holy city. Kyrel himself was having a drink with the Knights when the latest broadcast came on. It wasn't a surprise as there was only one of two ways it played out. Death after hours of agonizing torture, if you weren't brought back that is. Then if not that, they were broken into the battle-ready slave soldiers they were. Sometimes though, the broadcasts in themselves were special. Sometimes things happened that couldn't be predicted but since being offered a place in the brotherhood. Who was Kyrel to argue about the methods when he himself was a walking corpse.

Watching on the holoscreen, he watched in satisfaction to see the methods of the Embrace of Pain, and Memory Walk being used. The latter of which was one of his favorite techniques. Next to mind probe of course. As he had always learned, pain means more than the physical. If you broke arms, and legs, even chop them off. It didn't matter. One needed to break the mind in order to make real progress. Watching on the screen, the being's screams brought forth a sense of delight to the dead man. If he even knew what such things were. His eyes kept close on the broadcast to see what would play out next.

The Messenger
Tu'teggacha

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Tu'teggacha sighed as the memory walk ended and his senses returned to the torture chamber. It was always a shame to be forced to ravage a mind so quickly. Haste made waste, and the pleasure of unraveling this poor fool bit by bit had been denied him due to the necessity of uncovering the information he held. It was far more effective to strip away each layer of a mind one at a time, delving into the worst days of the victim's life and dragging them out seemingly forever, until they embraced the cruelty of the universe.

The Ebruchi promised himself that he would go slow with his next subject. He had earned the entertainment.

Or had he? A troubling through crossed Tu'teggacha's mind. The memory he had extracted from this traitorous marauder presented a problem: his reconditioning of the wretch had been less successful than anticipated. The Ebruchi worked on his slave-soldiers for days - even weeks, for the special ones - and yet a few hours of kind words had shattered the callous identity he had worked so hard to implant. Did that mean that his process was flawed? His facial tendrils drooped, then twitched rapidly in nervous irritation as he pondered it.

Tu'teggacha could not honestly remember whether he had worked on this marauder personally. There were far too many slaves to reshape for him to interact with all of them personally; even if he went through dozens a day, the Brotherhood required thousands. But the process was his, and his taskmaster adepts represented an extension of his own philosophy. Even if it was understood that they were apprentices to the craft he had invented and mastered, their failures still reflected on him. And if his own work had let the Maw down...

That mystery would have to wait, however. They would first have to find the dark-haired man who had instigated this problem in the first place. Perhaps discovering what kind of man he was, and what was special about him, would help Tu'teggacha to prevent such a failure from occurring in the future. "It seems we must inspect the prisoners, Deacon Mardok," the Ebruchi said, tapping his claws on the torture table. "We must discover which of the Batuuans has unleashed this heresy, and then we must rip it from their minds."

The Messenger ​

 

[Dagon Kaze]

The two Jedi snuck along intertwined paths, some natural and some not, stopping occasionally to reach out and peek, observe and record. Troubling news was reaching the frontier worlds of the Alliance if one bothered to listen. Rumors of savagery rising in the Unknown Regions. Raiding far more often than usual. And far more brutal. Something was stirring beyond the 'normal' piracy and slavery.

The rumors led him here.

A nexus of anguish.

Unholy screams echoed, one after the other, each louder than the next. Their pain through the Force cracked both his mind and soul. How many were locked up here? Hundreds? More? The lingering presence of the dark side with each shriek of torment sickened him. Its sadistic malice like a faceless man snickering.

Dagon abruptly grabbed his head as he ground to a halt - a familiar presence extinguished under the hammer of agony. Cook. The brainwashed marauder, whose will had clawed back to control long enough to alert the Jedi and smuggle them here.

"Cook's dead...or nearly dead." the padawan whispered to his companion Jedi Ilian Kastle . Squinting as the Force weighted down on his mind. "We need to find the Jedi. Fast."

He didn't say it but the gnawing feeling that their presence had been made aware of kept chewing him from the inside.

Dagon shuffled onward trying to find a hint at where this supposed Jedi had been captured, as per Cook's meager recollection.

Their time was running out.

Tu'teggacha | The Messenger | Kyrel Ren
Ilian Kastle

 

[Ilian Kastle]

Dagon Kaze | Tu'teggacha | Kyrel Ren | The Messenger

Ilian's jaw tightens as a distant scream rings out. His hand similarly tightens around the saber dangling at his side, but loosens with the fading of the prisoner's anguish. A sigh escapes him.

"There are hundreds -- if not thousands of cages down here," the Knight whispers, taking a knee alongside a closed doorway, "and far too many of them are filled."

He examines Dagon's face for a moment, aware of the unseen burden weighing down upon him. Averting his gaze, his lips tighten to a thin line while his eyes skip across the features of their dungeon-like surroundings, looking for anything that might prove helpful.

"They must have a database of some kind," Ilian rises and reaches for the door, muscling its rusted hinges open enough to squeeze through as quietly as possible, "Surely even savages such as these must keep track of their captives."

Stepping through, the two reach a tall and straight passage cast in a bright orange hue. Echoing howls fill the air, paired with a choir of rattling of chains and percussion from the desperate pounding of flesh against metal.

Taking cautious steps forward, Ilian speaks softly back toward the padawan, "What does the Alliance know of these people? These slavers?" He presses his body to the wall as he reaches its edge. Carefully, he peeks an eye around. They were high. Or, rather, the chasm below them seemed to descend for miles. At the maw's center: an obsidian tower.

"The Order must hear about this--" his voice cuts off as a wave of foul energy washes over him, forcing him back around the corner and against the wall.

Catching his breath and swallowing, he looks back to the Ruusanian with an expression of deep concern, "This is a dark place, Dagon."

 

[The Messenger]

"Indeed."

His voice trembled with barely contained anger, the very thought of such heresy festering within the Holy City of Gehinnom was unbearable, unthinkable! He had seen the depths Tu'teggacha and his attendants had gone through to condition and break the bodies that came through these halls. The mental prowess, the torture techniques, the chemical additives, and most of all the ever present aura of dread that the Taskmaster wielded could not be denied. The entire Heathen Priesthood, himself included, had acknowledged the gifts granted to such a wretched creature. It was as if the Hidden Maw had blessed the Ebruchi in it's infinite divine wisdom, he was chosen, he was destined to perform the great work before him and serve the dark purposes of the Brotherhood. This was no understatement, this was no mistake.

So to think that one raider had fell under the thrall of heretics and nonbelievers was shell shocking to the dark clergyman. The hordes of savage cutthroat marauders were zealous with their devotion, at least the grand majority as the continually replenished slave-soldiers were broken over time to serve and believe their code, their creed as much as they came to accept the reality of their newfound purpose. He had heard tales of such redemption before, although the source was less than ideal. Hopefully the heretic they sought was not of the same stock, they needed no more self proclaimed 'heroes' running amok causing discord in their hallowed halls. "I want sentries dispersed and I want these Batuu filth to break under your thumb. I don't care if you have to kill the lot of them, get me answers! I will dispatch the Palatine Guard to assist in the search for the smuggled nonbelievers. There will be a great reward for the slave who finds them, as always Taskmaster I look forward to your work. I leave you now, update me as you learn more."

Branching away from the horrific scene of torture and hate, the Deacon stepped away back toward the long walkway. HIs stride was one filled with anger and festering hatred, his boots echoing from the force emitted in his contemptuous march off into the steam ridden chasm. As he left the large black spire, a single red armored sentry removed himself from his post against the entrywall. The strange, silent figure followed close behind in stride with his charge, following the Deacon vigilantly as he left the area.

The howls continued from the prisoners throughout the domain of evil, the aura of the chamber absolutely wreaking of the Dark Side of the Force. The oppressive force of pressure rested upon the shoulders of the Jedi as they tip-toed through massive dungeon in search of the rumored Jedi captive held by the Brotherhood of the Maw. Large pipes rode along the towering walls from the misty depths to the vast open dome high above leading to the Holy City. Small indentations from prefab welds, and serviced paneling left opportune gripping for climbs between each level in their search.

A lone raider wandered the empty hall of one such level, rattling along the walls and tapping the energy cells in mockery. He remained still, flashing faces of contempt amidst his self-satisfying humor, unaware of the Jedi that approached.

Tu'teggacha
Dagon Kaze
Ilian Kastle
Kyrel Ren

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Gehinnom, should the wider galaxy know of all its horrors, they would call it hell made manifest. To Zachariel, and most others in the Brotherhood, it simply existed. What it was is widely different from member to member, but to Zachariel, it was simply a place to hone his craft. That craft was obviously torture, and Taskmasters here were second to none in their craft. Aside from their craft, they also created more soldiers for the Brotherhood, and soldiers was something Zachariel needed. While many of his warband had survived, they had mostly been the elite. The foot soldiers had almost all died, and that meant he needed more.

Thus, Zachariel had ordered more to be found for his warband, while he would indulge himself in his craft. Rumor had it that there were Jedi locked up here, taken from Batuu or Jakku. And Zachariel would simply love to torture some of them, or torture others before them. After all, Jedi had empathy and the ability to feel through the Force. That meant that anything they could feel from others, that would haunt them because they couldn't stop it. Perhaps that would also break them, and provide more war material for the future.

However, to truly break the Jedi, Zachariel would need other slaves to break before them. For that reason Zachariel stalked the lower corners of the prison, searching for someone strong enough to survive, but weak enough to scream. Another Force sensitive would be ideal, as that would simply amplify the emotions felt by the Jedi. For these reasons, and simply idleness, Zachariel stalked the halls merely a floor away from the sneaking Jedi. His senses were flared however, spread wide to let others bask in his dark presence, and also to search for worthy prey.

It was simply a matter of time before he found that prey he was looking for, and then the true fun could begin. Unfortunately, only two slaves had matched the criteria needed, and they were already being dragged along by a Chosen of Zachariel. Due to such a low number, Zachariels presence leered about, searching as surely as his own gaze did. He could feel that he would fine something suitable soon, it was only a matter of time.

The Messenger | Tu'teggacha | Kyrel Ren | Dagon Kaze | Ilian Kastle

 

[Tu'teggacha]

As the Deacon gave his orders, Tu'teggacha paused. He tilted his head oddly and closed his huge eyes, as if listening to music only he could hear. His facial tendrils lashed the air in agitation, making his whole face resemble a kelp forest caught in a whirlpool. Then, after a moment, he was still. "There are... others, Deacon Mardok," he finally said. "Their light, though pitiful beside our power, shines out like a beacon amid the holy darkness, easily distinguished." His eyes snapped open. "It seems the heretic has allies."

The Ebruchi had to commend the bravery of these intruders. They had marched into the rancor's den. No, into its very jaws. In this place, the ambient fear, hatred, and suffering would suffocate their powers of light, which were based on tranquility. Added to that, they were alone and outnumbered, countless thousands to one. Only haste and stealth could save them, and unless they knew how to hide their light, they'd have no chance at the latter. Tu'teggacha would enjoy discovering what made them tick when he opened them up.

"I will seek them," he said, cycling the door to the torture chamber. He left the mind-shattered prisoner behind him, eyes vacant, drool trickling from the corners of his slack mouth. He had pushed that one beyond the limits of sanity, rendering him worthless. Well, almost worthless. Like most of his kind, Tu'teggacha appreciated the taste and texture of warm, bloody meat, still so raw that it seemed to wriggle. Waste not, want not; he would return for his meal once he had discovered and captured the intruders. A victory dinner.

Though he was short, with strange, knobby legs hidden beneath his robe, the Ebruchi could move with surprising haste. He hurried down the dark corridors of the Holy City, seeking the way to the dungeons. He knew the Jedi had come, but his talents lay in the invasion of minds and memories, not in Force tracking or farseeing. If he wanted to find the intruders, he was going to have to head them off at their destination. That would be complicated by the fact that he did not know which prisoner they had come to rescue.

That particular heretic must have hidden his Force presence with tremendous skill.

It would take Tu'teggacha some time before he could reach the dungeons, but he wasn't too worried. The Jedi's search would almost certainly take even longer than his own, and his approach would probably be cloaked by the massive amounts of ambient dark energy all around him. If he raised the alarm, that would only tip off the powerful warriors that their presence had been discovered, and they might escape. So instead he gathered to him a small band of his fiercest, most vicious marauders, weapons at the ready, teeth bared.

They would intercept the intruders, and then he would break their minds to pieces.

The Messenger | Dagon Kaze | Ilian Kastle | Zachariel Steelblood | Kyrel Ren​

 

[Dagon Kaze]

"This is a dark place, Dagon."

"I know." he replied solemnly. The padawan threw one last glance over the railing at the spanless chasm below - guards shuffled to action. Alert. Urgent.

The dark side, like poisonous tendrils, caressed the two servants of the Light. Its enticing grasp whispering temptation. Or corruption.

"They know we're here, Ilian." Dagon stated the obvious, then jerked his head forward. "Let's hurry."

He hurried onwards leading the way, climbing places that seemed out of reach and shuffling through gaps out of fit. But time pressed on them as after every junction, every turn, the duo had to wait a passing patrol.

Dagon had no choice.

"No more slithering around." he turned to the traditionalist Jedi with him; what little he knew of the Knight was vaguely his background coming from a more...orthodox school of Jedi. It was time to meet the New Jedi.

And their reckless behavior.

The padawan opened up his presence into the ethereal, the light side pulsating like a beacon. He scattered following the current of the Force, frantically looking for the thread of a Jedi. A thousand lifelines shrieked their final shriek succumbing to the pulverizing hammer of the darkness. Dagon evaded the wicked minds - those of vessel of the corruption that like a plague sought to eclipse the current itself. In the twilight of the eclipse, he found the faintest but most distinguishable thread of all - the Jedi; hidden behind a miasma of suffering and regret, of pain and torment.

DARKCOM .

A name he had never heard until now.

Dagon snapped out of it, only a few moments had passed.

He jolted forward, hoping Ilian followed, eager to find the Jedi and escape this hell.

On the third turn left, they were faced down by one of the sentries of evil.

/ooc: didn't specify who - whoever jumps first, jumps first.

Ilian Kastle | Tu'teggacha | The Messenger | Zachariel Steelblood

 

[DARKCOM]

Breath.

He could see the warm air disperse into a cloud as it left his lips rushing to meet the cold air around him. The old man drowned out the sounds of prisoners howling through the hallowed dungeon. He focused inward and remained calm even as he nerve-wracking screams grew louder and louder. The high pitched shrieks of agony bounced from wall to wall, reverberating through his cell as it echoed from the chasm beyond his hall. This place was hell, designed by the sickest minds to break any who set foot here without a hint of empathy.

He wondered if they would come for him soon, attempt to break him and drive him mad. The Epochan moved his hand along one the many scars across his body, a reminder of the pain he endured. The suffering brought upon him.

That's when he felt it, a beacon of light that lit up in the Force. Kaigann felt it wash over him like morning warmth, something he had not experienced in sometime. His eyes shot out beyond his cell, the source wasn't far, he mustered what strength he had to rise to his feet and drag his heavy shackles. The old Jedi pressed his hands against the cold durasteel and looked beyond the energy field that separated him from freedom.

He reached out faintly, knowing it could potentially lead others to him. He reached out to the beacon of light and whispered, "I'm here."


Dagon Kaze
Ilian Kastle

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Marching along, Zachariel was feeling about for Force sensitives when the message came. It was a warning to the highest ranked that there were intruders, and that they were seeking the Jedi prisoners. That meant they were most likely also Jedi. The thought prompted a grin from Zachariel, what better way to break both parties, than to force them to face one another. Manipulating his presence, Zachariel brought his Force presence around himself, searching with dark tendrils for any sign of the intruders. He needn't have looked, because they were revealed soon after, searching for the one captured. The captured Jedi was also reaching out, both revealing each other and themselves. How quaint.

And they were close, moving in the direction Zachariel was. Turning to the Chosen with him, Zachariel grabbed a slave, even as he ordered the Chosen to head to the Jedi's cell. Quite clearly the message wanted this to be kept quiet, so he didn't order any others to him, only the Chosen and that slave. As for Zachariel, he kept the other slave on hand, moving to the edge. With a singular, fluid move, Zachariel swung himself off the edge and down to the floor below. He landed with a dull thump, standing a mere half dozen meters away from the two intruders.

Rising to stand his full 3 meters of height, Zachariel observed the two intruders with amusement. They were small, and so very weak. On top of that, Zachariel wagered they were at best knights. Grinning darkly, Zachariel hefted the slave in one hand and a serrated knife in the other. For what he had planned, no weapon was yet needed. Though his sword hung on his back, even as a heavy blaster was on his hip. Zachariel spoke then, voice bloodthirsty, but a dark calm, rumbling forth, even as the Dark Side attempted to worm its way into their minds, to spread terror and fear.

"Ah, Jedi. I'm glad you came, rather than us having to hunt you down. Before I go further though, I'll have to ask you to not be hasty. Otherwise this lovely slave will face the consequences, before you do as well." To hammer that point home, Zachariel cut the serrated blade across the slaves face, prompting a loud scream from him. He began to bleed and blubber in pain, but Zachariel simply kept staring at the Jedi. "Oh, and don't worry, I'll be sure to amplify everything he feels, so you'll have a very good idea of what he's going through. If you don't be hasty and do as I say, for example give me your lightsabers and surrender, then I won't torture this slave. In fact, I'll make sure his death is swift and painless, a far better alternative I'm sure you can agree."

Leering forward, Zachariel gave the slave another cut, amplifying the pain so the two Jedi would feel the emotions and pain fully.
"Granted you can always try and fight, or run. Either would result in me capturing you, torturing this slave, and you. And trust me, I've faced worse than a pair of knights before. Several Council Members at once, and they stood no chance." Motioning towards them with the blade, Zachariel laughed darkly. "So then, Jedi. Surrender your weapons and yourselves now, or you'll all suffer the consequences."

The Messenger | Tu'teggacha | Kyrel Ren | Dagon Kaze | Ilian Kastle | DARKCOM

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Something wasn't right, Kyrel could felt it as if something had whispered through the lullaby that was the Shadow. He could sense them, scatterings of light amidst the darkness. It wasn't just those that were captured and brought forth from the Holy City. No, he felt it, it was someone, or a group perhaps that seemed to have infiltrated the great sanctum of the Maw. To defile it with its putrid odor in the Force. Gritting black teeth, he slowly emerged from the seat of the cantina. Straightening himself out, shutting off the holo screening of the conversions, and the ranks being replenished into the great heathen army.

Yet it wasn't just thought, he sensed the eagerness to get the Jedi first. To have the glory and honor to capture them. Surely it would, for the Heathen Priests. Now it had become a rat race to see who would capture them. His fists tightened, his teeth clenched. Anger was already starting to manifest around the Master of Ren, and now he would seek the Jedi out. If need be, he would beat down anyone who got to them. While they were all for the Maw when it came to an enemy that was so few and had dared to come to a sacred place to this. The gloves were off, and it was a matter of who got to them first, and who either finished them off or brought them to the priests.

He moved quickly, as quick as one could through the dark corridors and the scream filled corners of the City itself. Reaching out to the Shadow, trying to narrow down where the Jedi were. When he finally managed to find the location. The difficulty was tracking the Jedi, but when came to the other warriors of the Maw. All he had to do was follow those that had the intentions very clear through the Shadow. Once that was done, it was easy for Kyrel. Moving through the shadows, the darkness made it seem that Kyrel was only a phantom. The only thing that made him stand out was the red cracks upon his mask.

Slowly emerging from behind. He didn't say a word. Only watched as, along the way, the Jedi seemed to be a pair. What were they trying to do? Rescue some friends? That in itself was a suicide, for there were only two ways out of here. Convert, or die. Watching as the Jedi were confronted by the hulking warlord known as Steelblood. For now, he watched as Steelblood along with the soldiers of the Maw confronted the Jedi. Watching from the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. If he was lucky he would steal them away from Steelblood and all to himself.

The Messenger Tu'teggacha Zachariel Steelblood Dagon Kaze Ilian Kastle DARKCOM

 

[Ilian Kastle]

Dagon Kaze | Tu'teggacha | Kyrel Ren | The Messenger
Zachariel Steelblood | DARKCOM

Ilian matches the padawan's movements step-for-step, keeping his profile low as the two navigate the dreary environment and plunge deeper into the dreadful hollow. He'd felt it too, of course; dark eyes leering at them from beyond the veil, but with the words now spoken between them he couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of urgency.

He reaches out a hand as he realizes what Dagon is about to do, but is too late to stop him. His hand falls short of the padawan's shoulder, feeling the padawan's presence expand around them and beyond. It was a bold move -- too reckless and, in the Knight's mind, unbefitting of a Jedi -- but it was perhaps their only option in truth. A fact Ilian certainly wouldn't admit.

Before he can find the words to say, another voice calls softly from the silence.

"I'm here."​

All at once a wave of relief and concern washes over the Jedi Knight. Ilian shakes the fogginess from his head, settling his mind back into its mortal frame. There was no time to question the methods, only to act on their success and hope to overcome their repercussions. Without the need for an exchange, Ilian springs forth at Dagon's side.

The ground trembles under the weight of their challenger; a behemoth of a man encased in twisted armour. Ilian skids to a stop a few meters away with his hand hovering over the hilt dangling at his side. They wouldn't be able to save everyone here. Void, they'd be lucky to even escape with their own lives at this rate. If the monster before them was half the beast he claimed to be they'd still have little hope of striking him down. Regardless, this was not the time nor place to try.

Ilian's focus turns solely to the hostage in Steelblood's grasp. They might not stand a chance at winning a fight, but together they just might at sparing an additional loss. The Knight's stern expression falters for but a moment as the terror and pain of the hostage is concentrated and channeled toward them. Any action would risk his life, but leaving him here alive would unquestionably be a fate far worse than death.

Accepting this and forfeiting his chance to draw his saber, the Knight instead draws power from within.

"Now!" he shouts abruptly, casting both hands forward and reaching out with the Force to grab hold of the hand wielding the dagger. Ilian's own hands tighten into fists and an unseen grip bears down on the titan's arm. He holds the position with intense concentration, attempting to slow their opponent's just long enough for the padawan to close the distance and pry the captive free.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Even as he hurried down to the cells, Tu'teggacha continued to stretch out with his senses, letting his mind crawl through the darkness of the Holy City in search of his prey. Two Jedi, potentially three if they liberated their ally; it would be a difficult task to oppose them. Although his dark powers were considerable, the Ebruchi was not well-suited to open combat, and his trademark neuronic whip would be a poor answer to a lightsaber and the training to use one. Still, he could not permit an escape from Gehinnom's dungeons, so he pressed on.

At least, he did until he sensed others converging on the same location. Tu'teggacha's facial tendrils contorted in what passed for a smile among the Ebruchi; he might have guessed that Zachariel Steelblood and Kyrel Ren would be hunting through these same shadowed corridors, sensing the same beacons of loathsome light. "Enough," he told the marauders he had gathered, dismissing them with one wave of a gnarled hand. He did not owe them any explanation as to why, and they knew it, melting away to return to their tasks.

Still reaching out with his senses, Tu'teggacha watched the confrontation from afar. As he did so, he amplified the ambient pain and fear in the prison corridor, doing his best to stifle the powers of the lightsiders. If he entered this clash of titans, he would only get in the way. He would have to feed on the misery it created from afar. When it was all over, he could swoop in and take away the... remains for further torture, if anyone survived. The chance to mindbreak three Jedi was more than exciting; it was positively intoxicating. Just thinking about it was a rush.

And if they were killed in this battle, he could at least discover what Jedi tasted like.

 

[Dagon Kaze]

"I'm here."

A gentle thought touched his mind; its thread across the Force enveloped in a shroud of pain and weariness. Beneath its suffocation a small flicker of hope like a candle in the wind. Dagon held on to it as the two Jedi stared down with a titan of steel before them.

The behemoth reeked of blood, sweat and danger. There was no doubt the massive being's threats were no bluff. He threw a sideways glance at Ilian and momentarily knew what he had to do. Just as the Knight lashed out with his hands forward at the behemoth, the padawan was already dashing in; hilt in hand, but blade inactive. He had only a blink of an eye's time to consider his options, none in which he could see the blue saber helpful.

Instead, Dagon hurled himself to tackle the bleeding slave from the grasp of the monster. As he speared through with the slave, the young Jedi released a Force push at their assailant trying to keep their distance safer as he landed roughly a few meters away with the slave.

Zachariel Steelblood Ilian Kastle Tu'teggacha Kyrel Ren DARKCOM

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Staring down the pair of Jedi, Zachariel knew they would likely only take one of two options. Surrender and let the slave die quickly, or fight and all be tortured for the offense. Unfortunately they chose option two, having heard the message of the Jedi already held captive here. That message was laced with pain of an enemy waiting to break, and Zachariel would be sure to visit them once this was over. However, at this moment he had a pair of foolish Jedi to deal with. So engrossed in this objective was he, that he merely noticed Kyrel, but never acknowledged him.

Focusing on the Jedi, Zachariel saw one prepare themselves, drawing in power. With a cry, the Jedi latches onto his arm with the Force. The action amuses Zachariel, though it does force his arm down some ways. However, his own might prevents it from dropping further down, but rather hold steady slightly lower than chest height. However, with this direct connection, his Force presence latches onto Ilian, howling at him with vengeance, moving to tear into him. Tendrils of darkness attack Ilian's Force presence, moving to tear into it with fury. All the while, Zachariel grins as the other Jedi comes barreling towards him, flying through the air.

So very predictable. The Jedi barrels into the slave, hoping to rip him free of Zachariels grip. Unfortunately for the padawan, he only partially succeeds. Zachariel is pushed a single foot backwards, a mere stride to maintain his balance. As for Dagon, he lands in a heap a few meters away, with his prize in hand. But what he thought was the slave was far darker. In his arms were half the clothes the slave had worn, along with a torn off arm. And it was then the slave began to scream in agony, his arm having been ripped off completely. He was too frail and malnourished, his flesh had already taken a beating, and that final tackle was the final straw to break him. Granted, it had been helped by Zachariel manipulating certain things to make it more easily tearable. All part of torture Zachariel himself had inflicted, or others had already given the slave.

Staring down at the slave without an ounce of pity, Zachariel chuckled darkly.
"My oh my, dear Jedi. I didn't think you'd be the one causing such pain." The slave continued to howl in pain, cries loud enough to be heard by both Jedi. And Zachariel used that. With the Force, he deepened the thought that they had caused such needless pain on the slave. Not Zachariel or anyone else, but they themselves were the reason for the loss of an arm. They were the reason for these screams of agony.

With a heave, Zachariel broke his knife wielding arm free of Ilian's grip and reached out towards the Jedi. Closing his fist, Zachariel moved to Force choke him, and perhaps even pull Ilian towards himself. With the other hand, still holding the slave, Zachariel moved to do the same with Dagon. Raw strength and power wise, Zachariel was more than able to do this, more than a match for the pair. Training wise however, they may be able to pull something off. Though over a millennia of experience was certainly an advantage.

"Surrender to me Jedi, your resistance is but a game."

Ilian Kastle | Dagon Kaze | Kyrel Ren | Tu'teggacha | The Messenger | DARKCOM

 

[Inferious]

Inferious was bored rambling to himself the best way to skin a Sith purblood and preserve their tendrils without damaging them. He was near Kyrel Ren and the other Knights, having a drink while they watched the latest of Gehinnom holo-entertainment.

In his boredom he began to play a game, the sounds of a vibro-knife coming down against the table, the tempo increasing. Faster Faster Faster
Suddenly the sound everyone was too familiar with. Cutting of flesh and bone Inferious began to burst into a manic laughter, the sounds of pain, pleasure and entertainment could he heard from his voice as he was fast to tend to the wound using a thrown together first-aid kit.

Looking at the mess he made the tip of his left ring finger was now laying there on the table, he put it in his drink and tossed it back laughing more as he looked around the Knights giving him a look of disapproval, his master now gone he began to calm down, something was off he could feel the powers fluctuating in the shadow, he began to follow them interested in what waited for him.
​

 

[The Messenger]

While the Jedi were making headway to the prisoners amidst the dreaded lair of the Taskmaster, they had drawn the ire of the Brotherhood and their Knights of Ren. Zachariel Steelblood and Kyrel Ren stood before their quarry, ready to do battle as Tu'teggacha lurked in the darkness and the rage filled Inferious approached.

Almost in miraculous fashion, the cell doors opened up on all sides. Energy shields faltered and vanished, within moments the crazed prisoners pounced forth toward the Brotherhood warriors and Jedi alike within the hall. Someone was responsible for this treachery, swift punishment would be delivered but first a riot had to be tended to.

Such a chaotic scene unfolded as a swarm pounced on their captors for freedom and the Jedi whom they knew no difference.



Tu'teggacha
Dagon Kaze
Ilian Kastle
Kyrel Ren
Inferious
Zachariel Steelblood